


The photo

by WinterSnowWillow



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cheating, Cooking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, One Shot, Post-Canon, aka yurio taking care of his not-officially-adopted dad yuuri, but not really, cooking as a form of hurt/comfort, i'm not sorry at all, protective!yura, the katsuki-nikiforov-plisetsky family, there are Yurio levels of swearing btw so you’re warned, there's a lot of fluff i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSnowWillow/pseuds/WinterSnowWillow
Summary: @victuuriii: has @katsuuri seen this?Posted by @sofiapetrova[an image of Viktor and a gorgeous woman, in a nightclub… kissing?]Yuuri drops his phone.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 26
Kudos: 471





	The photo

**Author's Note:**

> I— I wrote a fic! Oh my god. I have so many unfinished and abandoned drafts floating around everywhere, and then this idea popped into my head and I sat down and wrote it in two days.
> 
> Beta’d by my lovely friend! (Although her comments were mostly “WHY IS IT OVER 5000 WORDS”). If said friend ever starts posting stuff on AO3, I’ll link her here so you can go support her because she’s amazing!

“You sure you don’t want to come with me?” Viktor asks, hovering at the doorway. Yuuri waves him off. 

“Go have fun with Chris. I’m going to go to bed soon anyways.”

That’s a lie, but he really is tired. He loves spending time with Viktor, but whenever they go anywhere with Chris they end up in shady bars or trashy nightclubs, and Yuuri has no interest in waking up tomorrow with a massive hangover. 

He waves again at Viktor. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Viktor hesitates a moment longer, hand on the door. Then he nods, smiles, and replies, “Love you.”

Yuuri smiles back. “Love you, Vitya.”

As the door swings shut behind Viktor, Yuuri turns back to his computer. He’s found a handful of songs that could be good for his short program and he wants to listen to them again. He hasn’t really figured out his theme yet either…

Yuuri hits the play button on one and frowns. Almost all of the songs here are about love, but he hasn’t decided whether he wants to do that again this year. He hits the skip button and pauses at the next one, considering. 

Usually he avoids songs with lyrics, but he remembers Leo saying something about really liking this musician. It has a nice sound, and Yuuri finds himself humming bits of it as he picks them up. The lyrics seem to be about familial love, which is something he could work with. As he listens, he finds himself thinking about what kind of story he would tell with it. About his family back in Hasetsu, but also about his own little family with Viktor and somehow Yuri. 

He replays the song and idly starts to take notes on a nearby scrap of paper. _A jump here— maybe the Toe Loop, since this first section could be about Hasetsu. Combination here, then...hmm, a spin, maybe...some sort of step sequence...and then the second half is about my family here in Russia. Salchow for Yurio, obviously a quad flip for Viktor—that should go closer to the end, actually…_

He pauses, wondering what he could add to represent Team Yakov, and that’s when his phone lights up with a notification. He glances down and sighs. _Instagram._

He had been pretty sure he turned the notifications off, but Viktor keeps turning them back on, insisting that he’s too young to act like a technology-impaired old man. Which is ridiculous, because Viktor spends half his waking hours complaining about how he himself is a balding old man, and he’s only four years older than Yuuri. 

With a sigh, Yuuri clicks on the notification, trying to remember how he had turned them off before so he can do so again. And then he blinks in confusion, because he doesn’t recognize the usernames. 

**@victuuriiii has tagged you in a comment on @sofiapetrova’s post.**

_Victuuri._ Yuuri finds himself smiling stupidly at the ship name (Phichit had explained it to him after the Cup of China went down) as he clicks on the notification again to open the post. 

@victuuriii: **has @katsuuri seen this?**

And then his smile fades. 

Posted by @sofiapetrova

[an image of Viktor and a gorgeous woman, in a nightclub… kissing?]

Yuuri drops his phone, frozen for a second. His mind whirls in a thousand directions, jumbled, incoherent thoughts overlapping into dying screeches. For a moment, it feels like he’s falling, falling—

Common sense catches up to him. _It’s probably an old photo. Viktor has a lot of ex-girlfriends, so I’m sure it’s one of them._ He picks up his phone again, careful not to look at the picture, and scrolls down through the caption to find the date it was posted. 

Twelve minutes ago. 

Okay, so maybe they just posted it, but it could still be an old photo. People repost things all the time. He scrolls back up to the caption. 

@sofiapetrova: **look who i saw today! @queen_arina @v-nikiforov**

Okay.

They could be lying, maybe, if they’re trying to stir up drama. Yuuri scrolls back up to the picture, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in his gut, and starts to look for clues. 

Oh, he recognizes that nightclub. Chris seems to like it for some reason ( _some reason_ being the guy with long brown hair who always seems to be there, but that’s beside the point). Yuuri isn’t sure if that’s where they went tonight, but it is a real possibility. 

Speaking of Chris, there he is in the background. He looks...horrified, to be honest. Or more like shocked, Yuuri supposes. It looks like he’s just turning towards the camera and towards...the kiss, and his jaw is dropping open, eyes wide. 

Refusing to look at his fiancé and the girl, Yuuri studies the background of the photo. Most people seem to be turning in surprise, and a guy in the corner looks genuinely angry. Yuuri isn’t sure what to do with any of that information. So instead he turns his phone off, carefully sits it on the table. He twists his engagement ring around on his finger, staring blankly at his computer screen that has fallen asleep, trying not to think. 

  
_Crash!_ Yuuri jumps and turns towards the door just in time to see it nearly swing back shut on Yuri Plisetsky. He curses violently in Russian, steps inside, and then slams it shut with equal force. 

“Don’t check Instagram,” are the first words out of his mouth. Yuuri just laughs, because right now his options are to laugh or to cry. 

Yuri lets out a string of Russian words that Yuuri doesn’t recognize but that are definitely not family friendly, and then holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.” 

Yuuri freezes for a second, trying to identify his tone. Yuri is speaking quieter than normal, but his voice sounds more raw, more genuine. And it’s practically _dripping_ with anger. This, Yuuri realizes, is what happens when Yuri is genuinely pissed. So he holds out his phone, only asking, “Why?”

Yuri grabs the phone and unlocks it— _wait, he knows my password?—_ and scans the icons, eyes narrowed into such a sharp glare it’s amazing he can see anything. His mouth twists even further downwards as he hisses, voiced laced with venom, “So I can call the asshole. He’s been ignoring my fucking calls, but he’ll pick up if it’s you.”

 _Will he?_ For the first time ever, Yuuri wonders. But the phone is already ringing in Yuri’s hand, and he’s helpless to do anything except sit and stare at it. 

_Briiiiinggggg._

_Briiiiiiinggggg._

_Briii—_

Click.

“Yuuri?” slurs the voice that’s so familiar, more than anyone else in Yuuri’s life. The voice that he wakes up next to, the voice that laughs from across the room while he’s doing the dishes or cheers when he’s watching Yuuri’s old skating videos or whispers dramatically while they’re discussing ideas for their programs. He’s heard that voice in tears, he’s heard that voice bored, tired, lonely, sad.

But never before has it torn into his heart like this. 

  
It’s less about his voice, Yuuri knows—he’s heard Viktor hopelessly drunk nearly every time that they’ve gone out with Chris—but right now, the image of Viktor kissing some woman burns behind his eyes and he fights to take ragged breaths, fights to keep drawing in oxygen. 

Yuri is yelling into the phone, Yuuri notices dimly. Everything seems quieter than normal, like there’s water in his ears. He can’t process what words are coming out of Yuri’s mouth—oh, they're in Russian, that’s why. Yuuri’s picked up a little Russian from his time in St. Petersburg, but not nearly enough to have any idea what the blonde teen is yelling, speaking a thousand words a minute. Especially not when it feels like he’s drowning, sinking deeper into his own mind. 

Yuri pauses, silently turning to look at Yuuri. Yuuri tilts his head, trying to figure out whether they’ve switched to English or not. The words on the other end are so badly slurred that he honestly can’t tell. 

“Who’s the girl?”

It takes Yuuri a moment to realize that those words came out of his own mouth.  


Yuri pauses, and some garbled answer comes from Viktor’s end of the phone. Yuri apparently understands it, because he spits a solid fifteen seconds of swears in Russian. Yuuri stares blankly, waiting for him to translate. 

“One of his exes.” Yuri’s tone has dropped straight from flaming to icy. Yuuri shudders. He had assumed the woman was an ex-girlfriend, but the words still pierce through his chest with more force than four words should be allowed to. 

Viktor starts speaking again, and— is he whining? It certainly sounds like it, but he’s still speaking in Russian. That happens sometimes when he’s drunk, Yuuri knows, but it’s infuriating not to know what’s happening. He still feels disconnected from the room and from his own body, still feels like he’s slowly drowning. 

Viktor is definitely whining. Yuuri catches a phrase that he knows means “I didn’t mean to,” and that’s the point when both he and Yuri break. 

Yuri speaks first, fortunately in English. “Stop making yourself the victim,” he hisses, and that’s all that Yuuri needs to hear before he reaches over and hits the _End Call_ button. 

Both of them are silent for a long time. Yuuri stares at his phone, still in Yuri’s hand, and then turns his gaze to Yuri, who is glaring at a point on the wall. His glare is slightly different from his usual scowl, Yuuri notices— he looks less certain, teeth biting into his lower lip as he thinks. Yuuri lets himself focus on Yuri, because right now that’s a whole lot easier than thinking about...about...

Yuri stands up. “You have pork, right?”

Yuuri blinks. “I...yes?”

“Good.” Giving Yuuri a sharp look that he translates as _follow me_ , he storms over to the kitchen area. Yuuri suddenly thinks of Viktor burning every single thing he’s ever cooked tried to cook and both of them laughing hysterically as they clean it up. Still feeling strangely disconnected, Yuuri forces the memory away. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

Yuri gives him a look. “ _We_ ,” he pauses for emphasis. “Are making pirozhki.”

Yuuri stares. “Yura, it’s nine o’clock.” Pirozhki takes almost two hours to make. 

Yuri shrugs, opening the fridge and starting to pile ingredients on the counter. “It’s not like you’re going to go to sleep right now anyways.”

Yuuri can’t argue with that. So he opens the cupboard and starts to dig around for the skillet, grabbing bowls and measuring spoons along the way. 

“Are you out of cabbage?” demands Yuri, glaring into the fridge. 

“This is a Russian household, Yura. We’re never out of cabbage. Look on the left.” As he searches for the vegetable oil— _dammit, where did I leave the oil_ —Yuuri takes a moment to think about his own words. It is a Russian household, he supposes, since this is technically Viktor’s apartment. That thought instantly disintegrates into a wave of panic. 

_If Viktor and that girl are actually...together, where do I go?_ He accidentally knocks over a row of spices and scrambles to pick them up. _Would we break up? Is breaking up even the right word when you’re fiancés?_ Shit, the cinnamon rolled under the counter. He stretches for it, suddenly out of breath. _Would I buy my own apartment? Would I go back to Japan? Who would be my coach? What would Yurio do? Would he stay here with Viktor?_

Yuri drops to the ground next to him and grabs the cinnamon, then turns to face Yuuri, eyes narrowed. “Katsudon, you good?”

Yuuri hesitates, reminds himself to breathe, nods. He picks up the vegetable oil, careful not to knock the spices over again, and stands, setting it on the counter next to the other ingredients. 

Yuri starts to measure milk for the pirozhki dough as Yuuri starts the rice cooker, then lays out the pork to season it. They work in silence, only interrupted by the hum of the microwave and the eventual sizzle of breaded pork in the skillet. 

It’s nice to cook, to just...not think. This was definitely Yuri’s plan, and Yuuri can’t help but smile at the thought of the grumpy “Russian Punk” taking care of him. Yuri scowls back, but doesn’t speak.

Yuuri slices the egg-coated pork (Yuri is no longer allowed to use knives after the _incident_ last time) and Yuri cooks the cabbage as they wait for the dough to rise. It would’ve been smarter to start the dough earlier, but they hadn’t exactly been planning on making pirozhki in the middle of the night. 

“The dough is ready,” Yuri finally announces, uncovering the bowl and reaching for the dough. 

“Wash your hands first,” Yuuri scolds instinctively, then pauses as he realizes how much he sounds like a parent. He thinks back to a few hours ago, when he had been thinking about how the three of them were like a family. Right before—

“Katsudon!” Yuuri blinks and looks over. Yuri glares at him. “Stop. Right now we’re cooking and if you cut off your fingers trying to cut this dough then neither of us are gonna be allowed to use the fucking knives.”

Yuuri can’t help but laugh at that, and he forces himself to focus on the dough that Yuri has rolled out on the cutting board. It’s easy to slice the dough into small squares, and Yuri begins rolling them out and then stuffing them with the rice and pork strips. Once he’s done cutting the dough, Yuuri drops the cabbage chunks on top and watches as Yuri seals each one up, all perfectly smooth. 

After they pile the pirozhki onto baking sheets and stick them in the oven, Yuuri is suddenly aware of how _tired_ he is. Not really thinking, he opens the fridge and reaches for a bottle of vodka, only to have his hand slapped away. 

“No.”

Yuuri looks over at Yuri, who is staring at him with an unimpressed look. Yuri continues, “You’re fucking crazy when you’re drunk. I’m not dealing with that right now.”

That’s...fair, actually. Yuuri nods. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

Yuri considers him for a second, and then tilts his head towards Yuuri (and Viktor)’s room. “Go sleep then. I’ll get the pirozhki out.”

Yuuri wants to argue, but Yuri is being strangely nice and he is _really_ tired, so Yuuri nods again and heads towards his bedroom. He pauses in the doorway, looking back. 

“The fuck are you looking at, katsudon? Go to bed,” demands Yuri. Yuuri laughs and can feel himself smiling fondly as he enters the room. Even as he changes and brushes his teeth, he can’t help but smile to himself. 

And then he lies down in bed and it’s _cold_ , and he remembers why Yuri was being nice to him. 

He shifts around, trying to get comfortable, but the bed is too wide and the blankets are too thin and there’s a cold spot across his side where Viktor’s arm usually goes. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Viktor and that woman, _that stupid woman and stupid Viktor._ He sighs, exhausted, turns onto his side again. Then his back. Then his side. Then his stomach. Then his side. He’s shivering despite the blankets, and he curls into a ball around his pillow. No, that’s not comfortable either. He stretches out, but that’s colder, so he curls up again and wraps the massive blankets tighter around himself. That’s a bit better. 

_Stupid Viktor,_ he thinks again, wearily. He should’ve bought thicker blankets. But more than that, he should’ve been _here_ , curled up next to Yuuri, instead of wherever he is right now. Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut and tries very, very hard not to think about where he could be right now. 

He doesn’t succeed. 

He’s cold again, too, so he turns over and groans to himself. Since Viktor isn’t here, he sits up and pulls all of the blankets off of his side of the bed ( _Stupid Viktor_ ) to fold them in half, and then buried himself in the now doubled pile.

Yuuri is still miserable, obviously, but at least now he’s warmer. Other than that stupid spot along his side where Viktor’s arm belongs. He’s going to have to get used to that.

He can feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, on the verge of falling asleep but not quite reaching it. Every time he’s about to, that picture flashes across his vision or some imaginary wind blows over him and makes him cold again or he just starts thinking about everything and how it’s all gone to shit in the past few hours. 

He shivers again, and suddenly there’s a warmth spread across his side. Yuuri can’t help the slight sigh that escapes his lips as he curls into the heat, too exhausted to question it. Barely conscious, he can feel his body relax as he snuggles instinctively closer to…

_Viktor._

Well, Yuuri is awake now. 

He feels more awake than he has for the entire evening, when he was floating somewhere between confusion and betrayal and sadness. Now he feels _rage_ , rage not only that Viktor would make out with his ex in a nightclub but rage that he would come home afterwards and act like nothing had changed. 

_Everything has changed._ With that thought, Yuuri drags himself out of Viktor’s grip and stands up. His heart is pounding, and he’s not sure whether it’s from anger or fear or something else entirely. He looks back at Viktor, half-consciously sprawled across the mattress with a hand stretched out towards Yuuri. He stinks of alcohol, which only makes Yuuri angrier. Yuuri stares with nothing but utter contempt. It’s a bitter feeling, burning in the back of his throat as he turns and stalks silently out of the room. 

Yura is asleep in a chair, so Yuuri takes a second to check that the oven is off and that he hadn’t fallen asleep before taking the pirozhki out. The oven is empty and off, so he apparently did manage to put them away. The sink is filled with the dishes they had used, but Yuuri is definitely _not_ in the mood to do the dishes right now.

He stumbles over to the couch and collapses onto it, head starting to ache. The couch isn’t quite big enough to lay comfortably, but it’s rather nice to be in a space that doesn’t remind him quite so much of Viktor. With a sigh, he curls into a ball, and at that point exhaustion overcomes him.

\- - -

Yuuri opens his eyes and groans. It’s too bright, and his right leg is cramped from lying strangely on it. The room also smells faintly like…burning?

He jumps to his feet and turns towards the kitchen, then stops to stare. Viktor stands there, dressed as usual but with a pair of Gucci sunglasses on. _To deal with his hangover,_ Yuuri realizes, but how is he even awake? And...why?

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asks, hoping he comes across more as polite curiosity than judgement. Although at this point, he doesn’t really care anymore. 

“Making pancakes,” Viktor replies, and for a second Yuuri is so confused that he forgets that he’s angry at him. 

And then he remembers.

“We need to talk,” he starts, and then stops, not sure where to go from there. 

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Viktor replies, and his voice shakes on the last word, almost like he’s...scared?

Yuuri frowns and then opens his mouth, but Viktor is faster. “I didn’t—I didn’t want that. I...” He trails off, hesitates, and Yuuri wishes he could see his eyes. He slowly approaches Yuuri, coming closer so they can talk at a normal volume but moving as cautiously as if he’s approaching a wild animal. 

“You got drunk and made out with your ex,” Yuuri finishes. His anger seems to have vanished for the time being, and now he’s just tired. 

Viktor flinches, then starts shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Stop fucking lying to your boyfriend,” hisses a new voice. Yuuri and Viktor both turn to where Yuri sits, in the same chair he fell asleep in. Yuuri can see the exact moment when Viktor opens his mouth to correct _fiancé_ , and then he hesitates, and it feels as though Yuuri has been stabbed in the chest. He tries to ignore it as Yuri stalks over to growl into Viktor’s face. 

“He saw the pictures, you…” Yuri pauses, apparently searching for a word strong enough. He growls something in Russian that apparently he deems rude enough, and Viktor does too if his flinch says anything. 

Yuri jabs his finger at Viktor’s chest. “What the fuck were you thinking? Didn’t you think for a fucking second about how the katsudon would react?” His words are a growl. Viktor takes a step back and starts to speak, but Yuri interrupts. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Yuuri steps forward. “Yura, could Viktor and I talk alone?”

“No!” Yuri shouts, turning to scowl at him. “You’re too soft. I’m not leaving you alone so your self-deprecating ass can blame yourself when whatever happened is his fucking fault.”

That’s...exactly what Yuuri would have done, if he’s honest. Ever since he saw the picture, some small voice in the back of his head had been whispering, _that’s because you’re not enough for the Living Legend. Are you surprised that he got bored of you?_

And Yuri had noticed. Yuuri blinks at him, trying to figure out how to thank him in a way that he would actually appreciate. 

Viktor speaks now. “Yura—”

“Don’t call me that,” Yuri snaps, and both Yuuri and Viktor turn to stare at him. Viktor always calls him Yura. 

Yuuri hesitates, then starts, “Yuri—”

Yuri shakes his head again. “ _You_ can call me Yura. Or Yurochka. But not him.” He glares at Viktor again.

 _He’s disowning Viktor,_ Yuuri realizes, and fights off the urge to laugh hysterically at this whole situation. Either that or to burst into tears.

“Yura—”

“Can I say something?” interrupts Viktor. Yuuri considers saying no, just because he doesn’t particularly want to listen to Viktor right now, but it’s not like he has anything better to say. So he nods. 

Viktor inhales, hesitates, and then starts, “I didn’t want that to happen—”

That’s when Yuri explodes. “Stop making yourself the _victim!”_ he screeches. “You fucked up, okay? So why do you keep—”

Viktor moves faster than Yuuri’s brain, and suddenly his sunglasses are inches from Yuuri’s wide eyes and it takes Yuuri way, way too long to figure out what’s happening. And then Viktor’s mouth is on his, and _oh, he really just did that._

Yuuri shoves him away, staring in shock. “What—” His brain still hasn’t quite caught up. He decides to take a page out of Yuri’s book. “What the fuck was that?” _You really think now is the time to kiss me?_

Yuri is still screaming, Yuuri realizes. He’s switched to Russian and Yuuri had just kind of tuned him out. He goes quiet now, though, maybe waiting for Viktor’s answer or maybe just surprised at Yuuri’s swearing. 

Viktor had stumbled backwards—Yuuri must’ve pushed him really hard—but now he stands still, apparently waiting for Yuri’s silence. His voice is surprisingly (unsurprisingly?) calm as he replies, “That’s exactly what happened.”

There’s silence for a moment. 

“What?” asks Yuuri. 

“That— that’s exactly what happened last night. Including the part where you shoved me away. Except Arina had a friend with a camera ready.”

Oh. 

“You didn’t want to kiss her?” Yuuri asks, still struggling to organize his thoughts. 

“I didn’t want to kiss her,” Viktor confirms. 

“You shoved her away?”

“I shoved her away.”

There’s another, longer silence. Viktor sighs softly. “You don’t believe me?”

Yuuri pauses. Does he believe him? He wants to, but… “Why should I believe you?” There’s photographic evidence against Viktor. 

Viktor doesn’t hesitate. “Because I love you more than anyone or anything else, _Yuuri_.” He draws out Yuuri’s name in the way that he knows Yuuri loves, and that’s not fair, not _fair_ because how is Yuuri supposed to hate him when he drops sappy lines like that? How could he not love him when he says things like—

“Bullshit,” announces Yuri. 

Right, Yuri is still here. Yuuri hopes his face isn’t too red, but Yuri doesn’t seem to notice even if it is. Viktor and Yuuri both wait for him to speak. 

“It’s probably true, but it’s still a bullshit reason,” Yuri elaborates. “And you don’t really have a way to prove that.”

Viktor opens his mouth, probably to argue, and then pauses. After a second he asks, “Do you have any suggestions instead?”

Yuuri waits for Yuri to scoff, but instead he nods seriously. “Call Chris.”

\- - -

“Don’t check Instagram,” are the first words out of Chris’s mouth when he picks up. Yuuri laughs sadly. 

“It’s a little too late for that.”

Yuuri and Yuri are sitting on the couch, and Viktor in the nearby chair. It had taken about twelve tries to get through to Chris (“Let’s just call one more time,” said everyone every time), who was probably still asleep and nursing a hangover. Yuuri once again questions how Viktor is alive right now, considering that he woke up before Yuuri. 

“Chris, we had a question,” Yuuri adds as he watches Yuri open his mouth. Getting yelled at through the phone by a small angry teenager would definitely be unpleasant when dealing with a hangover. 

(Understatement of the century.)

“You saw the picture?” Chris interrupts. He sounds genuinely worried, which is something that can’t often be said about him. 

“Yes.” The word is simple, and yet it echoes. Yuuri wonders for a second what would have happened if he hadn’t seen it. But that wouldn’t have fixed anything; it probably would have made it worse. People would whisper _secret affair_ and he would find out anyways, later. 

“I can’t believe she did that,” Chris says, and he really does sound surprised. “She came out of nowhere and like… grabbed him, and as someone who does a lot of grabbing I can say that it was very weird to watch.” 

Well, that fits with Viktor’s story so far. Yuuri looks over at him: Viktor is sitting perfectly still, silently waiting. His face is unreadable with his eyes still covered by those sunglasses. 

“Honestly, I’m surprised they even got that picture, because he shoved her off so fast. It was like… fastest reflexes I’ve ever seen. And then he pretty much yelled, ‘I have a _fiancé_ ,’ and then everything erupted into chaos.”

Yuuri looks over at Viktor. “That’s all true?”

Viktor just nods. “I swear to it.”

There’s another, longer silence. _Do I trust him?_ echoes through Yuuri’s brain, and the answer is yes, he does, even if he maybe shouldn’t. Viktor and Chris could have come up with a cover story, but he genuinely doubts that. Neither of them are that kind of person, and besides, Viktor’s memory is complete and utter garbage. If the story were fake, he probably would have forgotten it. 

Besides, Yuuri _wants_ to believe Viktor. He wants to believe that this whole relationship wasn’t a lie. Maybe that’s stupid, but after many, many days of harsh practices and laughter on the beach and soft words in tea shops, he really does trust Viktor. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Yuri mutters, “Look at her Instagram.” He holds out his phone, revealing Arina’s page. Most of the photos seem to be of her modeling different clothing, but one of the most recent posts shows a picture of a newspaper headline questioning whether some actor was having an affair with her. She captioned it with a variety of laughing and crying emojis.

Viktor hums. “She always liked to make drama.” _So this is something she just...does? Messes with other people’s relationships for fun?_

“That’s...messed up,” is the only thing Yuuri can think of to say. He looks over at Viktor, whose expression is still carefully blank. “Vitya, I… I believe you.”

Viktor gives his first genuine smile of the day, his mouth splitting into something soft and happy. He almost looks like he’s going to cry, but Yuuri still can’t see his eyes. 

Yuri speaks, suddenly. “Did you say you made pancakes?”

Viktor nods again, and Yuuri shakes his head in disbelief. What a crazy morning. Well, last night was crazier, but… wow. Viktor cooking?

“Thanks, Chris,” he says, remembering that they haven’t hung up yet. He reaches for the _End Call_ button, but pauses as Chris starts to speak. 

“Did Yuri just say that Viktor made pancakes?” asks Chris, astonished. “I didn’t know he knew how to use a stove.”

Viktor pouts, but he can’t argue with that. Yuri isn’t allowed to use knives, Viktor isn’t allowed to use the stove. It’s just a fact of this apartment. 

“They’re not even burned,” protests Viktor, and Yuuri stands up to check. As he heads into the kitchen, he notices that the dishes from last night’s pirozhki making are cleaned up too— Viktor really is trying to make it up to him. 

“They’re not burned,” Yuuri confirms, astonished. In fact, the pancakes are a beautiful golden brown. Yuuri turns back to Viktor, completely stunned. 

“So you’re sleep deprived and terribly hungover, and yet you woke up before me and cleaned the dishes and made perfect pancakes even though you barely know how to use the stove?”

Viktor grins. Yuuri adds, “How are you alive?”

“I do feel a bit like death,” Viktor admits. “Also, don’t look in the trash can.”

So of course, Yuuri looks in the trash can. He bursts out laughing. 

“How many of them did you burn?” He can barely get the words out, choking on his own laughter. The trashcan is a _battlefield_ of charred ashes and bits of misshapen dough. The longer he looks, the more he laughs as he notices more of the pancakes: that one is completely black, that one has grill marks across it—did he use a _grill pan?_ There’s one that’s completely runny, and there’s one in the corner that somehow got mutilated into a mess of tiny pieces. 

He looks up at Viktor, who is pouting but clearly trying not to smile. “I wanted them to be perfect.”

“Oh my god, Vitya,” Yuuri gasps, covering his mouth to try to stop himself from laughing. He looks back at the golden pancakes and shakes his head in shock. “My god, Vitya, they are perfect.”

Viktor and Yuri have moved over to the kitchen to admire said pancakes. Yuuri can’t resist the urge to fling his arms around Viktor (which is surprising, because usually Viktor is the one flinging himself at Yuuri) and pulls him close. 

“Ewww. Chris, they’re being sappy,” announces Yuri, which only makes Viktor laugh and pull Yuuri closer. 

“You know you love us, Yura,” he teases, and then his smile freezes as he realizes he used the forbidden nickname. Yuri doesn’t respond other than making gagging noises, and Viktor grins at Yuuri. He grins back. 

After they hang up on Chris, though, Viktor frowns. “The pancakes are probably cold by now.”

Yuuri shrugs. “We can microwave them.” 

As he reaches for the plates, though, Viktor exclaims, “Wait!”

Both Yuri’s turn to stare at Viktor, whose ears turn pink. “Um...I wanted to take a picture of them first.”

Yuuri still can’t stop grinning, and seeing Viktor proud of his cooking only reinforces that stupidly happy smile that's stuck on his face. Then suddenly he gasps. “I have an idea!”

\- - -

Posted by @katsuuri

[image: a selfie of Viktor, Yuuri, and Yuri sitting at a table with a pile of golden pancakes in front of them. Yuuri has his left arm around Viktor and his right hand stretched outwards, emphasizing the engagement ring, and Viktor is doing the same but appears to be holding the phone with his left. Yuri sits close to his side, making a gagging face that’s clearly fake, trying not to smile.]

Caption: 

**Breakfast with the family!**

**After some rumors went around yesterday, we just wanted to celebrate being together as well as the start of the new skate season. We’ve all been thinking about programs and themes and I know exactly what I’m going to skate about. (It’s a surprise, but this post is a hint!)**

**Also, @queen_arina @sofiapetrova I’d like to mention that just because your ex is drunk doesn’t mean you have their consent to kiss them. Just thought I’d put that out there.**

Comments:

@v-nikiforov **< 3333333333333333**

@phichit+chu **katsuki yuuri posting on Instagram??? (•o•)**

@phichit+chu **also can we talk abt the way he DRAGS arina like damn i raised this boy**

@katsuuri **Phichit, why are you like this?**

@yuri-plisetsky **y do u talk abt me like im ur son**

@v-nikiforov **bc u are our son**

@katsuuri **Why are you replying to each other’s comments? You’re literally sitting next to each other.**

@v-nikiforov **i love my family <3**

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. I still can’t quite process that I wrote a fanfic.
> 
> For the recipes, I referred to: https://thewoksoflife.com/katsudon/  
> I actually made this with my family! It was so goooood!  
> Pirozhki recipe: https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/140517/traditional-russian-pirozhki/  
> I really want to make pirozhki sometime…
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this mess that I made! Maybe consider *nudge nudge* subscribing if you want to see more YOI content from me… *nudge nudge*
> 
> EDIT: SO MANY KUDOS OH MY— I LOVE YOU ALL


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